


I love you, Mister Buttons

by whichstiel



Series: Season 14 Codas [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker, Curses, Episode Tag, Episode: s14e13 Lebanon, First Kiss, Lebanon, M/M, SPN 14x13, episode coda, killer teddy bears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 02:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17716253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: A coda for episode 13 "Lebanon" featuring fights, killer cursed teddy bears, and somehow...love.





	I love you, Mister Buttons

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for curse-induced violence between Dean and Cas (similar to the episode)

Castiel settled the pair of opera glasses into a plain wooden box and fitted the lid into the grooves. He slid the top shut with a quiet _shuk_ and then pried the handwritten label he’d created off of the sticker sheet. Carefully, he aligned the edges of the sticker with the sides of the box and then he picked up the whole thing and slid it onto a shelf holding a couple dozen identical boxes. 

_Opera glasses_ , the label read. _Use to view angels, demons, souls. Will burn out eyes after approx. two minutes of use._ Castiel paused over the box, raising one hand to trace the labels written in so many different handwritings - old and faded, or new and ebullient. There were so many, and there would be so many more. Humans were just as wildly inventive when it came to the arcane, imbuing everyday objects with powers far better left alone. 

Dean’s. Sam’s. Even Mary’s handwriting grace these shelves now. Legacies, all of them, with their initials lettered neatly in the corners of the labels. Castiel was there, marked by a lone “C.” It warmed him to see such physical marks on the world, particularly given the story he’d heard tonight. 

Time travel. It always filled him with distaste. There were so many variables that could go wrong and even when the timeline was set right, _what-could-have-been_ tended to wreck even the strongest soul. All three of the Winchesters had looked destroyed this evening after John’s departure. Castiel had seen eyes like theirs before, when he was part of a company of angels appearing to mankind during the flood. The people had such hope until Castiel’s garrison told them they wouldn’t be helped by Heaven. It was the look of someone realizing that they were alone in an uncaring universe.

Above him, the pipes groaned their usual late-night symphony as the temperature plummeted outside. Down the rows of shelves, something new sounded. A _snick snack pop._

Castiel tilted his head curiously and he dropped his hand to his side, fingers twitching in caution. “Hello?”

_Snick snack pop_.

It was coming from the front of the room, near the doorway. “Mary? Is that you?” Castiel prowled down the aisle, keeping his back to the shelves. He shook his blade into his hand, where it caught more light than it should have reasonably been able to do in the low light of the storage room. He kept it low, in the shadow of his arm.

_Snick snack pop._

Castiel peered down the shelves towards the doorway. The door stood open, at the exact angle at which Castiel had left it. There were no ominous shadows, no deliberate footsteps - nothing, in short, that might signal an intruder. The _snick snack pop_ went on with greater rapidity. 

Castiel burst from the cover of the shelves, blade ready to fight or defend against— Nothing. There was nothing there. Castiel whirled. Nobody was in the room but him, not as far as he could sense. He looked at the two boxes on the table full of rescued, dangerous artifacts. 

Movement caught his eye after a long moment of still watchfulness. Something moved behind a worn brown bear - a white string with a ring-pull on the end. Slowly it snaked away behind the bear and as it did so, the bear spoke in a tinny child’s voice, “I love you.” 

Castiel shuddered involuntarily. His blade clattered to the floor and rolled half under a chair. “What…?” He traversed the last few feet to the box and picked up the bear. The stuffed animal was limp in his hands, the fake fur matted with age. With a curious numbness, he pinched with two fingers the loose threads that had once criss-crossed the bear’s mouth but had sprung free, one by one. _Snick snack pop_.

Underneath the black split thread, the bear’s mouth was a pale pink line. Traces of the old embroidery still remained as pockmarks in the old fabric. Castiel turned the bear over. He looked at the ring of the pull cord pressed against the bear’s back. 

He shouldn’t.

He shouldn’t but he already… Castiel crooked the tip of his index finger into the little white ring. Through a cold fog, he watched himself pull back the cord, extending the string to its outer limits. In his other hand, the bear felt hot like it was oven-warmed. Like the old fur wrapped around a hot brick. 

Castiel released the pull-cord. Long and slow, the bear said, “I love you.”

Castiel shook again and stared at the bear. He felt hollow in a way that reminded him of hunger when he was human. Like someone had taken a shovel to his insides and hauled them out. Like it hurt too much to be empty, and too much to be full. 

“I love you too, Mister Buttons,” Castiel murmured, and drew the bear close to his chest.

 

***

 

Dean woke up to the slow creak of his bedroom door opening. Light spilled in from the hallway, orange and bright against the absolute darkness of his room. He rubbed his face along the pillow, dragging his nose across the fabric, and groaned. “Wah?” he said, blinking blearily. 

A silent silhouette stood in the doorframe and Dean stopped the quick slide of his hand towards the gun he kept under his pillow. “Cas? What the hell, man?” He pulled up a fist to rub sleep from the corner of his eye and grimaced. 

Castiel stood there, a trench coat shaped shadow, and said nothing. 

“Cas?” Dean said again. A chill stole over his skin, raising the hair on his arms. 

After another handful of quiet seconds, Castiel finally said, “I brought you something.” His voice sounded…high - almost boyish in comparison to his usually graveled tones. 

“You feeling alright?” Dean’s fingers began to itch towards his gun again. 

Castiel took another few steps into the room. “I brought you something,” he said again. “A gift.”

Now that Dean’s eyes had adjusted to the light, he could see that Castiel carried something in his hands. Whatever it was stretched longer than his forearms and flopped across his coat limply. 

Dean pushed himself upright. “Are you holding that damn bear? You and Sam, I swear to— Did Sam put you up to this?” He pushed his covers aside and swung one leg over the side of his mattress, grumbling. “Damn it, it’s not a toy—” Dean cocked his head to the side and reconsidered. “Okay, it is a toy. But it’s dangerous. Why’d you bring that to my room, man?”

Castiel watched him with wide eyes. He proffered the bear, which remained slung over one arm. “I brought you something,” he said again.

Sweat broke out across Dean and he closed his hand around his gun and pulled it out. There was something so comforting about wrapping his finger around a trigger. “Okay,” he said quietly to himself. “I’ve shot a teddy bear before. I’ll just do it again. This time it’ll stick.” He raised his voice. “Cas? Put the bear down, okay?”

Castiel tilted his head and looked consideringly down at the stuffed animal. Before Dean could stop him he pulled at the circle of plastic snugged up against the bear’s back, dragging out the string. Quick words rang out from the bear, cold and distant as a scratched record. “I love you,” the bear said.

Dean froze. 

He still held the gun in his hand - _yes_ \- and Castiel stood there with the bear. It was horrible, and it was fine, and it was nothing at all. 

Dean stood still as Castiel approached him with that strange, distant look on his face. He grasped the bear across the back and held it out so its stuffed legs splayed out like a spider from its body. “I brought you something,” Castiel said again and Dean held out one shaking hand and took the stuffed animal. He shifted the bear to his other arm, still holding the gun. Then, like a puppet he raised a hand, crooked a finger, and pulled the loop in the back of the bear. 

There was a long unspooling sound, like nylon rubbing against metal, and then Dean let go and the bear began to speak. Dean listened to it and when it was done, he took a trembling breath and said, “I love you too, Mister Buttons.”

In front of him, Castiel was nodding. “I love you, Mister Buttons,” he said. 

Dean fell into his gaze. Castiel’s eyes had never been more intense. It felt like Dean was sliding into a cave, rocks slick and final around him. He dropped the bear and lifted one hand to trace the lines of Castiel’s jaw. He felt the drag of the stubble of his chin, the fine, soft cartilage of his ear. Dean pulled his hand away and looked at it. His fingers curled in of their own accord until he carried a fist in one hand, and a gun in the other. “I love you, Mister Buttons,” he said, feeling like there wasn’t enough air in the room. Why wasn’t there any air? 

Through the dim pulse of his own heartbeat, he heard Castiel reply, “I love you too, Mister Buttons,” and then his first punch landed.

 

*** 

 

The unmistakable crack of a gunshot rocked Mary backwards in her seat. She blinked at the book in front of her, open to an old spell about binding angel wings. The book was useless - more about healing than shackling and she’d found herself staring at the page’s illustrated borders instead of leafing through the rest of the book. Her mind kept circling around the events of the day. God - the bunker still smelled like her damn casserole. Wasn’t scent memory just a bitch? And John… And John…

A gunshot in the bunker, though? That was enough to rattle her out of her stupor. 

Mary leapt to her feet, chair skittering backwards. Her hand instinctively flew to her waistband, empty except for a knife. She dipped her knees as she rushed towards the sound, moving her hand low under the table until her fingertips brushed the holster bolted to its underside. She closed her hand around the emergency weapon, drew it up, and began to hunt. 

The sound of crashing wood cracked through the bunker hallway. It was coming from the bedrooms. For just a moment - a breath - fear gripped Mary so tightly that she stumbled, shoulder glancing against the tiled wall. _My boys. Not my boys too._

And then she was running again, rushing towards the commotion. Around her, the lights of the hallway shone their usual orange. No forced entry, perhaps, or nothing to trigger the alarms. But there were plenty of threats that could have forced their way to the forefront. Monsters in through the garage, ghosts carted in with the latest box of artifacts, _Michael_. 

She could hear muffled grunts - the kick of a shoe against wood - all coming from Dean’s room. “Dean,” she breathed and rushed to the edge of the doorway. Mary dipped her head inside just for a second and took in the room.

Dean and Castiel were locked together on the bed, limbs flailing, Dean kicking at the bed frame, at his desk. Their hands were locked around each others’ throats. 

Mary drew in a sharp breath. “Dean? Cas?” She whirled into the room, eyes darting to the corners. “Michael?” she tried, heart sick. 

Neither of the men made any reply. They simply grappled on the bed, locked in what looked like a life or death struggle. Dean’s face was turning red, burning from exertion or lack of air. Hell, even Castiel was flushing a deep, desperate purple. On the floor lay a stuffed bear, torn stitches outlining its mouth like worms rising from the earth. 

In a flash, Mary assembled the puzzle. She couldn’t sleep; she’d read the pawn shop’s log books while Castiel cataloged them. _Oh. Castiel._ “Stop it!” Mary shouted and raised her gun to the ceiling. She fired off a shot, the bullet burying itself in the concrete above and spraying gray dust to the floor like the aftermath of a firework. 

“Dean! Cas!” Mary circled around the bed, avoiding their flailing legs. She aimed the gun just above their heads and fired off another warning shot, only feet away this time. They stilled in a tableau reminiscent of ancient wrestlers, locked against each other and contorted into arcs of muscle and might on top of the bedspread. Just for a moment, both of them darted their eyes towards Mary. Just for a moment, some semblance of sense seemed to filter into their awareness. “Boys,” she said into the sudden quiet. 

Past Dean’s crushing fingers, Castiel drew in a short breath. “I love you, Mister Buttons,” he said. He ground it out like it was a plea for help, the desperate cry of a wounded animal. 

Behind her, a clattering of footsteps drew near and Sam rushed in through the doorway a moment later, gun drawn and hair whipped half across his face. “What the hell?” he asked the room at large. 

The lull was broken just like that. Dean and Castiel grunted in unison, fingers closing ever tighter around each other's throats. 

“Sam,” Mary jammed her gun into her waistband and whirled on him. “The bear.”

Sam zeroed in on the stuffed animal on the ground, his eyes dropping wide. “Oh, shit,” he said. “We need to—”

“Sew it up.” Mary patted her pockets desperately, like that would suddenly turn up a needle and neat spool of thread. 

“Dean’s desk,” Sam bit out and ran to it, dragging open the desk drawer. The drawer opened with a violent rattle. While Sam rummaged inside, Mary turned her attention back to the struggling figures on the bed. 

While Sam threaded a needle suitable for slipping through skin, Mary tried to thread her fingers through the hands clamping onto her son’s throat. Dean was turning purple but somehow still fighting Castiel tooth and nail. Maybe it was the archangel grace bottle up inside him. Maybe it was just Winchester stubbornness. Mary summoned her own will and forced it into her fingers, pulling at Castiel’s hands, freeing up space to breathe. Just a little. Just a little more. She caught Castiel’s eye and in the depths she saw desperation there. His fingers twitched under hers like he was doing everything he could to pull his hands away. 

“Hurry, Sam,” she ground out. From the desk Sam grunted, thread clamped in his mouth as he looped quick stitches across the bear’s pink smile. 

And then it was done. Castiel’s hands fell away like shed leaves and Mary stumbled back with them, pulling his arm down at a low angle as she struggled for footing. 

Both Dean and Castiel gasped and gagged for air, pushing themselves up and away from each other. Their eyes were wide and mouths open as color began to leech back into their faces. 

“Cas?” Dean said with a voice like sandpaper. He looked warily at his own hands, then across the bed to Castiel. 

Castiel was examining his hands as well and he turned them in the air with a look of horror, before glancing up at Dean. “Are you alright?”

Dean flicked a glance at Mary and then quickly away again. She was reminded suddenly, viscerally, of him as a child lying to her about brushing his teeth. “I’m fine,” Dean said, lifting an unsteady hand to his throat. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He craned his neck around to look at Sam, slumping against the desk with the bear hanging from one hand. “How do we kill that fuckin’ bear?”

 

* * * 

 

Dean dropped the mixing bucket to the garage floor with a wet clatter. “Good riddance,” Mary said, exhaustion dragging at the syllables. Dean laughed one short, humorless huff. In the wooden frame, the cement they’d poured over the stuffed bear oozed into an innocuous gray, smooth surface. When it was completely dry, they’d take the new cement brick with encased bear, slap a label on it, and add it to the storage room shelves for future hunters to try to destroy. 

Dust from the cement smeared his knuckles with gray and Dean rubbed his hands absently against his thighs, then clapped his hands together. “Okay. Well. Moving on, I guess.” 

Sam yawned deeply and pled the need for just a few more hours of sleep. Castiel muttered about “confining the rest of those accursed objects,” and Mary scrubbed at her eyes as well. Dean shooed them all out of the garage. 

“I’m wide awake after that,” he assured them. “Just gonna get a little work done on that Ranger’s engine before I turn in myself.” But standing at his workbench a few minutes later, he slumped over his tools. Gingerly, he reached up one hand to rub along the back of his neck, before drawing it forward to the soft skin under his jaw.

Castiel had healed the bruising - both from his alternate self’s attack and later from their bear-cursed fight. Sitting next to Castiel and feeling the ice-blue of his grace rush through him, Dean had contemplated joking about it. It wasn’t the first time they’d beaten the shit out of each other. Hell, who knows? It might not be the last. But light words felt leaden and foolish. 

Part of him could see past the curse compelling him to kill Castiel. He saw the fear in his eyes when they were locked together on that bed. That fear remained, lurking like a shadow as Castiel had healed him. Castiel was letting this experience carve into him, withdrawing into that trench coat of his…

“Dean?” 

Dean jumped, hand clenching around the rag in his hand. “Mom! Uh. Hey.” 

“Brought you a drink.” Mary set an opened bottle of beer on the workbench and shoved it a few inches across the wood. “It’s still night, technically, so I think this counts as a late beer.”

“Sunrise is in an hour.” Lips curling into a sardonic half smile, Dean nodded his thanks, reached for the drink and took a long gulp. 

“So,” Mary said, settling against the workbench. “You doing okay?”

_What the hell kind of answer can I give to that?_ Dean shrugged and resumed carefully cleaning grease off a handful of bolts. “Just another day in the life.”

“Hmm.”

Dean sighed and rolled his chin to the side to look at her. He rattled the bolts. “Cursed toys are the worst.”

“Tell me about it.” Mary picked up a sprocket wrench and twirled it slowly, listening to it click. “I read about that bear in that ledger. The pawn shop owner kept all sorts of notes on it. Probably copied over from whatever hunter’d gotten it originally.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“It was cursed by a witch.”

“Of course it was.”

“Apparently decades ago, this kid hired a witch to get his divorcing parents back together. Witch curses the bear and…”

Dean grimaced. “And they killed each other?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Mary set the wrench down and scrubbed at a grease stain with her fingernail. “They apparently lived happily-ever-after married for another sixty odd years. Now that kid, on the other hand… He grew up. Had a family. Ran into a rough patch and dragged out the bear this witch cursed for him so he could use it on his own marriage…”

“But the curse turned on him.” Dean couldn’t help but turn towards Mary. The twists and turns these things took - he’d never stop being surprised. 

“Yep. Well…sort of. The best the hunter could figure - or at least, this is what was in the ledger - the witch cursed the bear to bring two people who were out of love back into love. But you give it to a couple who love each other and…well…”

“Stabbing, not hugs?”

“You got it. The hunter worked out how to stitch up the bear, freeze the curse, and now we get to store it in the dark recesses of your locked bunker.” 

“Wow.” Dean shook his head. “That’s messed up.”

“That’s spellwork for you,” Mary said with her typical dry disdain of it. 

“Good thing that’s off the streets and slab-ified.”

Mary flicked a piece of congealed grease and it cracked and scattered across the worktable. “The thing is…it attacks people who love each other. Romantically.” 

Dean stared for a long moment at the bolts on the table. He suddenly felt off-kilter again. Which was saying something considering he still had an archangel knocking around his head like a suicidal submarine captain. 

“Sam thinks this was his fault.”

“What?” Dean met her eyes at last. Her gaze was warm and sympathetic, despite her red-rimmed eyes. 

“He was holding the bear while you two were talking about the haul and he thinks he might have transferred…I don’t know. A wish, or…”

Dean stopped all attempts at cleaning and slumped over the bench. He massaged two fingers into the ridge of his nose. “What are you trying to tell me here?”

“Nothing, if you don’t want to hear it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Only…”

Dean sighed and turned to her, not bothering to hide his exhaustion and confusion. She smiled tenderly at him and reached for his cheek, smoothing her thumb along his jaw. 

“I’m not telling you to do anything,” Mary said. Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat aggressivly before continuing, “And maybe I should wait until I feel less raw but I lost the love of my life today. Found him then lost him again. It hurts so much, I can’t even begin—” She drew in a deep, steadying breath and continued. “I’ve loved and lost. But before that…I tried desperately hard _not_ to love. When I started dating your dad, I really tried not to fall in love. Or to let him in. And keeping that bottled inside me…it was like a rock pounding away from inside my chest. If I let it keep on going…if I never did anything about that love…there’d be nothing left of me. It was easier - everything was easier - once I gave in to it.” She patted his arm and stepped away. “All I’m saying is, maybe you should think about talking to Castiel. Because that bear seems to think your feelings are mutual.”

Dean stood in the garage, frozen in a tableau of productive work, while his mind fell into pieces. 

 

* * * 

 

The cup of coffee in front of Castiel had cooled well past steam. It now sat in front of him, a stolid cup of cold caffeine. Desultorily, he prodded the mug with his finger until steam once again emerged from the cup. His mind kept circling back to the fight with Dean, to the bruises on his neck, to the way he wouldn’t look—

Castiel drew in a long, sluggish breath and let it out again, just as slowly. In any reality, it seemed that he was skewed towards damaging those individuals he loved best. 

“Cas?”

Dean’s voice tunneled from the hallway into the kitchen. Castiel tightened his grip on his mug. “In here.”

Dean rounded the corner, looking oddly uncertain. At the threshhold, he paused and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He leaned for a moment against the doorframe, almost missing it entirely and having to shuffle one foot to keep upright. 

Alarm ran through Castiel like a current and he half rose from his stool. “Dean?”

Dean pushed off the wall and entered the kitchen, looking abashed. “Long day. Long couple days, I guess.” He crossed to the coffee pot and pulled it off the warmer, sniffing at it before pouring himself a cup. 

“Are you doing alright?” Castiel asked him quietly. 

Dean laughed. “Oh hell. You know that’s a long answer these days, right? Listen, Cas.” He swung one leg over the opposite bench and settled himself at the table. He took a sip, made a face at the sharp, burned taste of overwarmed coffee, and set the mug down. “That bear had a spell in it.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Of that I’m well aware.”

“Mom told me it’s—” Dean broke off and laughed - actually laughed at the ceiling. “God, this is unbelievably awkward.” He shook his head. “Cas, what do you think…what do you feel about me?”

Castiel frowned at Dean. 

He was still trying to figure out how they’d taken this sudden turn in conversation when Dean shook his head again. “Sorry. That’s not fair. Uh. Me first.” He played with the handle of his cup, pushing it so the mug slid in small circles on the table. “You know we’re friends, right? You’re…you’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

Dean caught his eye and Castiel held it, trying to tamp down on the panic welling up in him. Was Dean trying to say goodbye? Because Castiel would not permit it. A muscle jumped in his jaw. 

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen with Michael. If anything can be done. And if I have to go, or before I go…” Dean drew in a deep breath, like he was struggling for air. “I love you,” he said very quickly and quietly. The words slid out on his exhale. 

Castiel heard the words. Of course he did. But they didn’t make sense. He pressed his palm across the table, aching to grab hold of Dean and keep him tethered to the bunker. “Dean, are you saying goodbye? Because—”

“What? No! No, that’s not what this is.” Dean’s gaze dropped to Castiel’s hand, still extended across the table. He let go of the mug and slowly, like a leaf sifting towards the ground, he settled his fingers on top of Castiel’s. Carefully, like he was touching a fine china bowl, he slid the pads of his fingers up Castiel’s knuckles and down his tendons until his palm enveloped the top of Castiel’s hand. His skin felt rough and too-warm. Dean’s palms perspired. 

“I love you, Cas. I _love_ love you. You’re the only one I wanna be with. I want to…to see you every day and share my life with you.” He executed a jerky, abrupt shrug that betrayed the tension running like a bowstring through his body. Dean leveled a lopsided smile at Castiel. “That damn bear seemed to think you got something for me too?” The last line was delivered on a hopeful note. 

Castiel furrowed his brow, shifting his hand so his palm turned up towards the sky and embraced Dean. Lightly, he ran his fingertips along the tense lines of Dean’s wrist. 

“I don’t know what that bear has to do with any of this,” Castiel finally said into the pounding silence of the kitchen. He lifted his gaze to Dean and barely restrained himself from flinching at the raw honesty he saw there. Dean’s eyes were red and features lined with strain, yes. But an uncertain hope seemed to shine from the gleam in his eyes to the soft set of his mouth. Castiel’s heart thudded in his chest as though it was trying to escape and he took a deep swallow of air, realizing that he’d neglected to breathe for a minute or two. “I do love you,” he finally said. “That’s one of the few certainties I have on this planet.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence, locked onto each others’ faces. Castiel felt like he was falling. He felt like he was flying. After a long time, tension seemed to fall away from Dean. He dropped his chin to one side, his lips flying up in a crooked smile. Dean’s fingers circled Castiel’s wrist and he brought up both of their hands to his mouth, turning them so that Castiel’s knuckles were exposed to the light. With almost exaggerated tenderness, Dean pressed his lips to them. He pulled back just enough to whisper across Castiel’s skin. “Okay,” he murmured. 

Castiel began to grin. It was uncontrollable, a reaction outside of himself. He let himself be kissed quietly, intimately. “Okay,” he agreed. He tugged at their joined hands and reverently brought them up to his own mouth. Castiel hesitated as though the world would evaporate any moment, revealing itself to be a dream or a shifted timeline, nudging itself back to rights. He pressed a kiss against Dean’s skin and Dean’s fingers twitched then relaxed against his own. Castiel continued to adore Dean’s knuckles until Dean moved around the table, slid into a seat next to him, and replaced their hands with his lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look, Woollycas! I wrote a story combining Dean/Cas fluff, Mary feelings, AND a killer teddy bear. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
